Little to do About Everything
by jonwatsn
Summary: A rewrite of one of the scenes, aka my creative writing assessment which I love my teacher for .


Well hey yall!  
Okay no never again I apologise sorry.  
Well this is what my teacher made us do for creative writing: she told us that we had to take a scene from either our novel study, (The Hunger Games), or film study, (Stand By Me), then rewrite it from another character's point of view. I chose Stand By Me, then the scene just before the Train Dodge, then Chris' point of view. And this is what I wrote:)

_**Little to do About Everything**_

It was a quarter past three, but it felt much later. The hot sun beat hard at the tops of the trees standing either side of the train tracks. But it was filtered through the leaves before it could reach us down below the foliage. Directly above us, the sky was a deep blue, which faded out to a paler shade over towards the horizon.

Teddy and Vern had pulled up ahead, laughing along with each other, singing _Lollipop_. Vern was just about busting a gut, really. Gordie and I were left to fall back behind them, which I didn't mind much at all.

I adjusted the leather strap of my mat over my shoulder. The silence that settled in wasn't awkward, or uncomfortable. We were friends. Best friends, I suppose. Although that was much too pussy for us, and we wouldn't ever say it aloud. It didn't need to be said.

The board supports slotted between the steel rails of the train tracks passed quickly under foot. The rails themselves glinted every once in a while in the dead heat of the day.

"Hey, I got some Winston's. Hawked them from my old man's dresser," I said, breaking the silence. "One apiece for after supper."

"Yeah," Gordie said, looking quietly down at his feet. "That's cool."

"Yeah," I mused. "That's when a cigarette tastes best. After supper."

"Great," he said, then frowned slightly, as if deciding whether or not he should bring something up. There was a long pause before he made up his mind. "D'you think I'm weird?"

I laughed, tipping my head back slightly. "Definitely."

"No man, seriously," he looked sideways at me, stopping on the tracks. "D'you think I'm weird?"

I thought for a bit, wondering why he would bring it up. I shrugged. "Yeah, but so what? Everybody's weird."

He nodded and there was a pause.

"You ready for school?" I asked, realising that I hadn't given it much thought.

This was simple enough. But there was a slight hesitation in his step before he shrugged and mumbled a _yeah_. Then again, who ever was?

"Junior High. You know what that means. By next June, we'll all be split up," the thought wasn't exactly a ray of sunshine, but it was unavoidable.

"What're you talking about?" he lashed out, but not nastily. More in shock that I would say it, think it, ever even _consider_ it. "Why would that happen?"

"It's not gonna be like grammar school, that's why. You're takin' your college courses. 'N me an' Teddy an' Vern'll all be in the shop courses with the rest of the retards making ashtrays an' birdhouses," I paused. It all seemed to dismal, so unsettling. "You're gonna meet a lot of new guys. Smart guys."

"Meet a load of pussies is what you mean."

I gripped his arm, stopping him dead in his tracks. My fingers dug into his skin and I thought of letting go but didn't.

"No man, don't say that. Don't even _think_ that."

He looked at me, eyes narrow for a time, seeking me out, my objective, and we carried on walking.

"Not going to meet a load of pussies," he continued. "Forget it!"

That made me angry. "Well then you're an asshole!"

"What's asshole about wanting to be with your friends?" he half yelled, half snapped.

"It's _asshole _if your friends drag you down. You hang with us you'll just be another wise-guy with shit for brains."

My words hung in the air, ringing almost in the abrupt silence. They were angry and hurt. Hurt because he was going to ruin his life for himself if he carried on the way he was.

Before the conversation went dead, I picked it up again. "You could be a real writer someday, Gordie."

He snapped. He well and truly completely and utterly snapped. Like a taught rubber band under too much strain, it all just blurted out in a series of short sentences. "Fuck writing! I don't wanna be a writer! It's a stupid waste of time!"

I saw black dots dancing just in front of my eyes, angry as fuck about his attitude. "That's your dad talking!"

"Bullshit!"

"Bulltrue!" I considered whether or not to go on, but my mouth decided for me. "I know how your dad feels about you, he doesn't give a shit about you! Denny was the one he cared about, and don't try tell me different!" I paused, letting the words linger again. "You're just a kid, Gordie."

"Gee, thanks _Dad_," he spat the word at me as if it was the worst insult he could possibly muster up.

"I wish to fuck I _was_ your dad! You wouldn't be goin' around, talikn' about takin' these stupid shop courses if I was," I stopped for a brief moment to take a breath, calm my voice. "It's like God gave you something, man. All those stories you can make up. An' he said _This is what we got for you kid. Try not to lose it. _But kids lose everything unless there's someone to look after them," I felt my voice escalating again. "An' if your folks're too fucked up to do it, then maybe I should!"

I stopped curtly after that. I didn't want to go on, had no desire. I was scared he was going to take a swing at me. My face sat in a permanent wince, preparing for the delivery of his fist to my nose. But it never came. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds. So I took the chance to put a closure to the conversation, something to keep him thinking about it, to take in what I'd told him, something that would make him wake the fuck up and realise what he was doing to himself.

"Those stories you write, they're no good to anyone but you. An' if you take the shop courses, _just_ coz you don't want us all to split," I gestured to Teddy and Vern, who were by now half a mile ahead of us. "Then that's a huge fuckin' waste of a fuckin'-A talent."

We kept walking, but our gazes were fixed one another. I, trying to see the gears tuning in his head, he, trying to read my expression. But my face had a disappointing lack thereof.

Vern's voice made us break the eye contact. "Come on you guys, let's get movin'!"

"Yeah," Teddy joined in. "By the time we get there, the kid won' even be dead anymore!"

They stood there, their features blending into their skin as a result of the distance. Hands on hips, hair slicked onto their scalps by the sweat, stood across the tracks. Gordie broke into a light trot to catch them up. I paused before following after him.

Who the fuck did he think he was.

I love Gordie, although we'd never say it aloud. Not at that age, not to each other, not to the other cats in our gang; it was too faggot. I said; it just didn't need saying. I love him, but when he started off like that, I couldn't handle it.

Maybe he didn't get it. Maybe he didn't understand how hard it was for Teddy and Vern and I. how Vern would end up in Remedial and Teddy and I would be in the shop courses because we couldn't do any better.

Even if that was the case, it was no fucking excuse.

Just looking back on it, I can see us two, take it from my eyes and turn it into someone else's point of view. Not Vern, not Teddy. Someone who had a bigger impact on our futures. The teachers at Junior High.

Gordie, small, weedy. Angry at his friend. But with hope. He's got a chance to get into the college courses. He had a good brother, Denny Lachance, football favourite of Castle Rock, held in the highest regard. He's got a fucking brain, for god's sake.

But me? Well. They sit up there, all the teachers in a big jerk-circle and they look at every kid and it doesn't matter what you've done. It only matters about your family and what impact you have on their precious college course students. They see me, Chris Chambers, from the Chamberses lot. Kid brother to Frank and Eyeball Chambers. They see my family. Frank, in jail for rape and criminal offence. Richard, nicknamed Eyeball for his wonky eye, tenth grade drop-out and in the Cobras with Ace Merrill and his other jd buddies. My dad, the old, stupid drunk that doesn't do shit except beat it out of his two remaining sons.

I wanted to get out of there, though. I wanted to get the fuck out of Castle Rock and _do _something. I didn't want to end up an alcoholic, like every other person in my family. I didn't want to drop out of high school when I still had two years left of it. I didn't want to be a rapist.

_Maybe,_ I thought, trudging on in silence, watching the board supports, the cinders on the embankment, the trees going slowly past in the woods. _Maybe I won't be. But I'll sure as fuck still be in Castle Rock, workin' the mills or pluckin' chickens, even if I don't wanna. _counting the board supports, _one, two, three, four…_

_Suppose I did get into the college courses…_

_Nine ten eleven twelve…_

_Would I even be able to manage it?_

_Sixteen seventeen eighteen…_

_Maybe._

_Twenty twenty one twenty two twenty three twenty four…_

_It'll be hard work, but maybe._

_Twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine…_

_Just _maybe,_ I could do it._

I stopped counting, just looked into the woods, the depth of them. The darkness that crept in and out of the gaps, despite the beating sun.

_That's all my life is. One big fuckin' maybe. And everyone knows what _maybe _means. Just like askin' if a friend can come over. "Maybe, dear, maybe. We'll just wait and see," then it's a pat on the head and an usher out of the kitchen. Just like askin' for an ice cream after school. "Maybe, we'll see, I'll think about it," then you know you're not gonna get one. It means no for those things. So why should it be different for the college courses?_


End file.
